






Book ,L 



LONDON LYRICS. 



LONDON LYRICS 



FREDERICK LOCKER-L^p.^ 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

MDCCCXCIII 






PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 

Frederick A . Stokes Company take pleasure in 
stating that they are Mr. Locker's authorized pub- 
lishers hi the United States. This edition is the 
AUTHOR'S EDITION, selected and revised by him. 



r 



if 

i 
J 



Apsth made, one April day, 
A neiv thing in the rhyming way $ 
Its turn was neat, its wit was clear 9 
It wavered *twixt a smile and tear; 
Then Mom us gave a touch satiric, 
And tf became a u London Lyric" 
[A. D.] 

Rovtfamt, Oct. i f iSSeo 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Unrealized Ideal i 

To my Grandmother 3 

A Human Skull 7 

My Neighbour Rose 9 

The Widow's Mite 13 

St. James's Street 14 

Beggars 18 

Bramble-Rise 21 

Geraldine and I 25 

Gertrude's Necklace 28 

Gertrude's Glove 30 

The Old Oak-tree at Hatfield Broadoak 31 

At Hurlingham 37 

The Pilgrims of Pall Mall 40 

Many Years After 43 

On an Old Muff 46 

Geraldine 50 

At her Window 54 

Rotten Row 56 

Loulou and her Cat 59 

The Skeleton in the Cupboard 62 



x CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

An Invitation to Rome, and'the Reply : — 

i. The Invitation 65 

2. The Reply 69 

To my Mistress 74 

Circumstance 76 

Yorick's Funerr.I 77 

Piccadilly 78 

A Nice Correspondent 81 

My Song 84 

Reply to a Letter enclosing a Lock of Hair ... 86 

A Rhyme of One 90 

Little Dinky 92 

Any Poet to his Love 94 

It might have been 96 

The Cuckoo 98 

To Lina Oswald 100 

The Jester's Moral 102 

Notes , . . . 107 



THE UNREALIZED IDEAI* 

My only Love is always near,— 

In country or in town 
I see her twinkling feet, I hear 

The whisper of her gown. 

She foots it ever fair and young, 
Her locks are tied in haste, 

And one is o'er her shoulder flung. 
And hangs below her waist. 

She ran before me in the meads ; 

And down this world-worn track 
She leads me on ; but while she leada 

She never gazes back. 



LONDON LYRICS, 

And yet her voice is in my dreams, 
To witch me more and more ; 

That wooing voice 1 Ah me, it seems 
Less near me than of yore. 

Lightly I sped when hope was high, 
And youth beguiled the chase; 

I follow— follow still ; but I 
Shall never see hex Face. 



LONDON LYRICS. 
TO MY GRANDMOTHER. 

(SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY.) 

Under the elm a rustic seat 
Was merriest Susan's pet retreat 
To merry-make. 

This Relative of mine, 
Was she seventy-and-nine 

When she died ? 
By the canvas may be seen 
How she look'd at seventeen, 

As a Bride. 

Beneath a summer tree 
Her maiden reverie 

Has a charm ; 
Her ringlets are in taste ; 
What an arm ! . . what a waist 

For an arm ! 



LONDON LYRICS. 

With her bridal-wreath, bouquet, 
Lace farthingale, and gay 

Falbala, — 
If Romney's touch be true, 
What a lucky dog were you, 

Grandpapa ! 

Her lips are sweet as love ; 

They are parting 1 Do they move? 

Are they dumb ? 
Her eyes are blue, and beam 
Beseechingly, and seem 

To say, "Come!" 

What funny fancy slips 

From atween these cherry lips i 

Whisper me, 
Fair Sorceress in paint, 
What canon says I mayn't 

Marry thee? 

That good-for-nothing Time 
Has a confidence sublime 1 
When I first 



LONDON LYRICS. 

Saw this Lady, in my youth, 
Her winters had, forsooth, 
Done their worst. 

Her locks, as white as snow, 
Once shamed the swarthy crow: 

By-and-by 
That fowl's avenging sprite 
Set his cruel foot for spite 

Near her eye. 

Her rounded form was lean, 
And her silk was bombazine : 

Well I wot 
With her needles would she sit, 
And for hours would she knit,— 

Would she not ? 

Ah perishable clay ! 

Her charms had dropt away 

One by one : 
But if she heaved a sigh 
With a burthen, it was, " Thy 

Will be done." 



LONDON LYRICS. 

In travail, as in tears, 
With the fardel of her years 

Overprest, 
In mercy she was borne 
Where the weary and the wora 

Are at rest. 

O if you now are there, 
And sweet as once you were t 

Grandmamma, 
This nether world agrees 
You'll all the better please 

Grandpapa. 



LONDON LYRICS. 



A HUMAN SKULL. 

A human Skull ! I bought it passing cheap, 
No doubt 'twas dearer to its first employer ! 

I thought mortality did well to keep 

Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer. 

Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin ; 

Here lips were woo'd, perhaps, in transport 
tender j 
Some may have chuck'd what was a dimpled chin, 

And never had my doubt about its gender. 

Did She live yesterday or ages back ? 

"What colour were the eyes when bright and 
waking ? 
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black, 

Poor little Head 1 that long has done with aching? 

It may have held (to shoot some random shots) 
Thy brains, Eliza Fry I or Baron Byron's; 



8 LONDON LYRICS. 

The wits of Nelly Gwynne, or Doctor Watts,— 
Two quoted bards. Two philanthropic sirens. 

But this I trust is clearly understood ; 

If man or woman — if adored or hated — 
Whoever own'd this Skull was not so good, 

Nor quite so bad as many may have stated. 
* * * * 

Who love can need no special type of Death ; 

He bares his awful face too soon, too often; 
Immortelles bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath, 

And does not yon green elm contain a coffin? 

O True- Love mine, what lines of care are these ? 

The heart still lingers with its golden hours, 
But fading tints are on the chestnut-trees, 

And where is all that lavish wealth of 
flowers ? 

The end is near. Life lacks what once it gave, 
Yet Death has promises that call for praises ; 

A very worthless rogue may dig the grave, 
But Hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies. 
i860. 



LONDON LYRICS. 



MY NEIGHBOUR ROSE. 

Though walls but thin our hearths divide, 
We're strangers, dwelling side by side ; — 
How gaily all your days must glide 

Unvex'd by labour ! 
I've seen you weep, and could have wept ; 
I've heard you sing, (and might have slept !) 
Sometimes I hear your chimney swept, 

My Charming Neighbour ! 

Your pets are mine. Pray what may ail 
The pup, once eloquent of tail ? 
I wonder why your nightingale 

Is mute at sunset. 
Your puss, demure and pensive, seems 
Too fat to mouse. Much she esteems 
Yon sunny wall, and, dozing, dreams 

Of mice she once ate. 



io LONDON LYRICS. 

Our tastes agree. I dote upon 
Frail jars, turquoise and celadon, 
The Wedding March of Mendelssohn, 

And Penseroso. 
When sorely tempted to purloin 
Your Pieth of Marc Antoine, 
Fair virtue doth fair play enjoin, 

Fair Virtuoso ! 

At times an Ariel, cruel-kind, 

Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind, 

And whisper low, " She hides behind 5 

Thou art not lonely." 
The tricksy sprite would erst assist 
At hush'd Verona's moonlight tryst ; — 
Sweet Capulet, thou wert not kiss'd 

By light winds only. 

I miss the simple days of yore, 
When two long braids of hair you worep 
And Chat Botti was wonder'd o'er, 
In corner cosy. 



LONDON LYRICS. u 

3m gdtt not back for tales like those : 
It's all in order, I suppose ; 
The Bud is now a blooming Rose,—- 
A rosy-posy 1 

Indeed, farewell to bygone years | 
How wonderful the change appears % 
For curates now, and cavaliers, 

In turn perplex you : 
The last are birds of feather gay, 
Who swear the first are birds of prey j— 
I'd scare them all had I my way, 

But that might vex you. 

Sometimes I've envied, it is true, 
That Hero, joyous twenty-two, 
Who sent bouquets and billets doux, 

And wore a sabre. 
The Rogue ! how close his arm he wound 
About Her waist, who never frown'd. 
He loves you, Child. Now, is he bound 

To love my Neighbour ? 



it LONDON LYRICS. 

The bells are ringing. As is mee^ 
White favours fascinate the street, 
Sweet faces greet me, rueful -sweet 

'Twixt tears and laughter : 
They crowd the door to see her go, 
The bliss of one brings many woe ;— - 
Ay, kiss the Bride, and I will throw 

The Old Shoe after. 

What change in one short afternoon, 
My own dear Neighbour gone, — so sooa 3 
Is yon pale orb her honey-moon 

Slow rising hither ? 
O lady, wan and marvellous ! 
How often have we communed thus I 
Sweet memory shall dwell with us* 

And joy go with her. 
sS6>. 



LONDON LYRICS. 13 



THE WIDOW'S MITE. 

A Widow — she had only one I 
A puny and decrepit Son ; 

But, day and night, 
Though fretful oft, and weak and small, 
A loving Child, he was her all — 

The Widow's Mite. 

The Widow's Mite ! ay, so sustain'd, 
She battled onward, nor complain'd 

That friends were fewer : 
And while she toil'd for daily fare, 
A little crutch upon the stair 

Was music to her. 

I saw her then, — and now I see 

That, though resign'd and cheerful, sns 

Has sorrow'd much : 
She has, He gave it tenderly, 
Much faith ; and, carefully laid by, 

A little Crutch. 
1856. 



LONDON LYRICS. 

ST. JAMES'S STREET. 

{See note.) 

St. James's Street,, of classic fame, 

For Fashion still is seen there : 
St. James's Street? I know the name^ 

I almost think I've been there ! 
Why, that's where Sacharissa sigh'd 

When Waller read his ditty ; 
Where Byron lived, and Gibbon died, 

And Alvanley was witty. 

A famous Street ! To yonder Park 

Young Churchill stole in class-time % 
Come, gaze on fifty men of mark, 

And then recall the past time. 
The plats at White's, the play at Croc£% 

The bumpers to Miss Gunning j 
The bonhomie of Charlie Fox, 

And Selwyn's ghastly funning. 



LONDON LYRICS. i| 

The dear old Street of clubs and cribs, 

As north and south it stretches, 
Still seems to smack of Rolliad squibs, 

And Gillray's fiercer sketches ; 
The quaint old dress, the grand old style, 

The mots, the racy stories ; 
The wine, the dice, the wit, the bile— 

The hate of Whigs and Tories. 

At dusk, when I am strolling there, 

Dim forms will rise around me j 
Lepel flits past me in her chair, 

And Congreve's airs astound me 1 
And once Nell Gwynne, a frail young Sprite 

Look'd kindly when I met her ; 
I shook my head, perhaps, — but quite 

Forgot to quite forget her. 

The Street is still a lively tomb 

For rich, and gay, and clever j 
The crops of dandies bud and bloom, 

And die as fast as ever. 
c 



16 LONDON L YRICS. 

Now gilded youth loves cutty pipeSj 
And slang that's rather scaring 5 

It can't approach its prototypes 
In taste, or tone, or bearing. 

In BrummeH's day of buckle shoes, 

Lawn cravats, and roll collars, 
They'd fight, and woo, and bet— and lose 

Like gentlemen and scholars : 
I'm glad young men should go the pace, 

I half forgive Old Rapid ; 
These louts disgrace their name and race— 

So vicious and so vapid ! 

Worse times may come. Bon ton, indeed. 

Will then be quite forgotten, 
And all we much revere will speed 

From ripe to worse than rotten : 
Let grass then sprout between yon stones, 

And owls then roost at Boodle's, 
For Echo will hurl back the tones 

Of screaming Yankee Doodles, 



LONDON LYRICS. 17 

I love the haunts of Old Cockaigne, 

Where wit and wealth were squander'd ; 
The halls that tell of hoop and train, 

Where grace and rank have wander'd % 
Those halls where ladies fair and leal 

First ventured to adore me I — 
Something of that old love I feci 

For this old Street before se&> 



IS LONDON LYRICS. 



BEGGARS. 

I am pacing the Mall in a rapt reverie, 
I am thinking if Sophy is thinking of me, 
When I'm roused by a ragged and shivering wretch, 
Who seems to be well on his way to Jack Ketch. 

He has got a bad face, and a shocking bad hat ; 
A comb in his fist, and he sees I'm a flat, 
For he says, " Buy a comb, it's a fine un to wear ; 
On'y try it, my Lord, through your whiskers and 



He eyes my gold chain, as if greedy to crib it 5 
He looks just as if he'd been blown from a gibbet. 
I pause . . . ! I pass on, and beside the club fire 
I settle that Sophy is all I desire. 

As I stroll from the club, and am deep in a strophe 
That rolls upon all that's delightful in Sophy, 
I'm humbly address'd by an " object " unnerving, 
So tatter'd a wretch must be " highly deserving." 



LONDON LYRICS. 19 

She begs, — I am touch'd, but I've great circum- 
spection ; 
I stifle remorse with the soothing reflection 
That cases of vice are by no means a rarity — 
The worst vice of all's indiscriminate charity. 

Am I right ? How I wish that my clerical guide 
Would settle this question — and others beside. 
For always one's heart to be hardening thus, 
If wholesome for Beggars, is hurtful for us. 

A few minutes later I'm happy and free 
To sip "Its mm Sophykins* " five-o'clock tea : 
Her table is loaded, for when a girl marries, 
What bushels of rubbish they send her from Barry 1 si 

"There's a present for you, Sir 1" Yes, thanks to 

her thrift, 
My Pet has been able to buy me a gift ; 
And she slips in my hand, the delightfully sly 

Thing, 
A paper-weight form'd of a bronze lizard writhing. 



ao LONDON LYRICS, 

"What a charming cadeaul and so truthfully 

moulded ; 
But perhaps you don't know, or deserve to be 

scolded, 
That in casting this metal a live, harmless lizard 
Was cruelly tortured in ghost and in gizzard?" 

" Po-oh ! " — saysmy Lady, (she always says "Pooh" 
When she's wilful, and does what she oughtn't to do!) 
•' Hopgarten protests they've no feeling, and so 
was only their muscular movement, you know \ n 

Thinks I (when I've said au revoir, and depart — 
A Comb in my pocket, a Weight — at my heart), 
And when wretched Mendicants writhe, there's a 

notion 
That begging is only their " muscular motion." 



LONDON LYRICS. 31 



BRAMBLE-RISE. 

What changes greet my wistful eyes 
In quiet little Bramble-Rise, 

The pride of all the shire ; 
How alter'd is each pleasant nook 5 — 
And used our dumpy church to look 

So dumpy in the spire ? 

This Village is no longer mine ; 

And though the inn has changed its sig^ 

The beer may not be stronger ; 
The haunt of butterflies and bees 
Is now a street, the cottages 

Are cottages no longer. 

The mud is brick, the thatch is slatq, 
The pound has tumbled out of date, 
And all the trees are stunted s 



22 LONDON LYRICS. 

Surely these thistles once grew figs, 
These geese were swans, and once the pigs 
More musically grunted. 



Where boys and girls pursued their sports 
A locomotive puffs and snorts, 

And gets my malediction ; 
The turf is dust — the elves are fled — 
The ponds have shrunk— and tastes have spread 

To photograph and fiction. 

Ah, there's a face I know again, 
There's Patty trotting down the lane 

To fill her pail with water ; 
Yes, Patty ! but I fear she's not 
The tricksy Pat that used to trot, 

But Patty,— Patty's daughter ! 

And has she, too, outlived the spells 
Of breezy hills and silent dells 

Where childhood loved to ramble ? 



LONDON LYRICS. 23 

Then life was thornless to our ken, 
And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then 
A rise without a bramble. 

Whence comes the change ? 'Twere simply told % 
For some grow wise, and some grow cold, 

And all feel time and trouble : 
If Life an empty bubble be, 
How sad for those who cannot see 

The rainbow in the bubble ! 

And senseless too, for Madam Fate 
Is not the fickle reprobate 

That moody folk have thought her $ 
My heart leaps up, and I rejoice 
As falls upon my ear thy voice, 

My little friskful Daughter. 

Come hither, Fairy, perch on these 
Thy most unworthy father's knees, 

And tell him all about it. 
Are dolls a sham ? Can men be base? 
When gazing on thy blessed face 

I'm quite prepared to doubt it 



} LONDON LYRICS. 

Though life is call'd a weary jaunt, 
Though earthly joys, the wisest gran^ 

Have no enduring basis ; 
It's pleasant (if I must be here S ) 
To find with Puss, rny Daughter dear, 

A little cool oasis t 

Oh, may'st thou some day own, sweet El£ 
A Pet just like thy winsome self, 

Her sanguine thoughts to borrow ; 
Content to use her brighter eyes, 
Accept her childish ecstasies, — 

If need be, share her sorrow. 

The wisdom of thy prattle cheers 

My heart ; and when, outworn in years,— 

When homeward I am starting, 
My Darling, lead me gently down 
To life's dim strand : the skies may frown, 

— But weep not for our parting. 
Ajril, 1857. 



LONDON LYRICS. 25 



GERALDINE AND I. 



Di te, Damasippe deaeque 
Verum ob consilium donent tonsore. 



I have talk'd with her often in noon-day heat, 
We have walk'd under wintry skies ; 

Her voice is the dearest voice, and sweet 
Is the light in her trustful eyes ; 

It is bliss in the silent woods, among 
Gay crowds, or in any place, 

To mould her mind, to gaze in her young 
Confiding face. 

For ever may roses divinely blow, 

And wine-dark pansies charm 
By that prim box path where I felt the glow 

Of her dimpled, trusting arm, 
And the sweep of her silk as she turn'd and smiled 

A smile as fair as her pearls ; 
The breeze was in love with the darling Child, 
And coax'd her curls, 



26 LONDON LYRICS. 

She show'd me her ferns and woodbine sprays, 

Foxglove and jasmine stars, 
A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze 

Of red in the celadon jars : 
And velvety bees in convolvulus bells, 

And roses of bountiful Spring. 
But I said— ' ' Though roses and bees have spells 
They have thorn and sting." 

She show'd me ripe peaches behind a net 

As fine as her veil, and fat, 
Gold fish a-gape, who lazily met 

For her crumbs — I grudged them that ! 
A squirrel, some rabbits with long lop ears, 

And guinea-pigs, tortoise-shell — wee ; 
And I told her that eloquent truth inheres 
In all we see. 

I lifted her doe by its lops, quoth I, 
" Even here deep meaning lies, — 

Why have squirrels these ample tails, and why 
Have rabbits these prominent eyes ?" 



LONDOM LYRICS. 27 

She smiled and said, as she twirl'd her veil, 

" For some nice little cause, no doubt — 

If you lift a guinea-pig up by the tail 

His eyes drop out !" 
1868. 



28 LONDON LYRICS. 



GERTRUDE'S NECKLACE. 

As Gertrude skipt from babe to girl, 
Her Necklace lengthen'd, pearl by pearl 
Year after year it grew, and grew, 
For every Birthday gave her two. 
Her neck is lovely, — soft and fair, 
And now her Necklace glimmers there. 

So cradled, let it fall and rise, 
And all her graces symbolize. 
Perchance this pearl, without a spec?:, 
Once was as warm on Sappho's neck \ 
Where are the happy, twilight pearls 
That braided Beatrice's curls? 

Is Gerty loved? Is Gerty loth? 
Or, if she's either, is she both ? 
She's fancy free, but sweeter far 
Than many plighted Maidens ssxe ; 



LONDON LYRICS. 29 

Will Gerty smile us all away, 
And still be Gerty? Who can say? 



But let her wear her Precious Toy, 
And I'll rejoice to see her joy : 
Her bauble's only one degree 
Less frail, less fugitive than we, 
For time, ere long, will snap the skes^ 
ts.d scatter s?U be? Pearls q.;-vj% 



3Q LONDON LYRICS. 



GERTRUDE S GLOVE. 

Elle await au bout des ses manckss 
Une paire de mains si blanches ! 

Slips of a kid-skin deftly sewn, 
A scent as through her garden blown, 
The tender hue that clothes her dove, 
All these, and this is Gerty's Glove. 

A Glove but lately dofft, for look — 

It keeps the happy shape it took 

Warm from her touch ! What gave the glow ? 

And where's the Mould that shaped it so ? 

It clasp'd the hand, so pure, so sleek, 
Where Gerty rests a pensive cheek ; 
The hand that when the light wind stirs, 
Reproves those laughing locks of hers. 

You Fingers four, you little Thumb ! 
Were I but you, in days to come 
I'd clasp, and kiss, — I'd keep her. Go I 
And tell her that I told you so. 
Kissinghn, September, 1871. 



LONDON LYRICS. 31 



THE OLD OAK-TREE AT HATFIELD 
BROADOAK. 

A mighty growth ! The county side 
Lamented when the Giant died, 

For England loves her trees : 
What misty legends round him cling ; 
How lavishly he once could fling 

His acorns to the breeze I 

Who struck a thousand roots in fame, 
Who gave the district half its name, 

Will not be soon forgotten : 
Last spring he show'd but one green boughs 
The red leaves hang there yet, — and now 

His very props are rotten 1 

Elate, the thunderbolt he braved, 
For centuries his branches wavci 
A welcome to the blast ; 



32 LONDON- LYRICS, 

From reign to reign he bore a spell % 
No forester had dared to fell 
What time has fell'd at last. 

The Monarch wore a leafy crown, — 

And wolves, ere wolves were hunted doT*^ 

Found shelter in his gloom ; 
Unnumber'd squirrels frolick'd free, 
Glad music fill'd the gallant Tree 

From stem to topmost bloom. 

It's hard to say, 'twere vain to seek, 
When first he ventured forth, a meek 

Petitioner for dew ; 
No Saxon spade disturb'd his root, 
The rabbit spared the tender shoot, 

And valiantly he grew, 

And show'd some inches from the ground 
When St. Augustine came and found 

Us very proper Vandals : 
Then nymphs had bluer eyes than hose ; 
England then measured men by blow? 9 

And measured time by candles. 
D 



LONDON LYRICS. 33 

The pilgrim bless'd his grateful shads 
Ere Richard led the first crusade ; 

And maidens loved to dance 
Where, boy and man, in summer-time, 
Chaucer had ponder'd o'er his rhyme ; 

And Robin Hood, perchance, 

Stole hither to Maid Marian ; 
(Well, if they did not come, one can 

At any rate suppose it) ; 
They met beneath the mistletoe,— 
We've done the same, and ought to knotf 

The reason why they chose it I 

And this was call'd the Traitor's Branch, 
Stem Warwick hung six yeomen stanch 

Along its mighty fork ; 
Uncivil wars for them! The fair 
Red rose and white still bloom, but where 

Are Lancaster and York? 

Right mournfully his leaves he shed 
To shroud the graves of England's dead, 
By English falchion slain ; 



34 LONDON LYRICS. 

And cheerfully, for England's sake, 

He sent his Kin to sea with Drake, 

When Tudor humbled Spain. 

While Blake was fighting with the Dutch 
They gave his poor old arms a crutch ; 

And thrice-four maids and men ate 
A meal within his rugged bark, 
When Coventiy bewitch'd the Parle, 

And Chatham ruled the Senate. 

His few remaining boughs were green, 
And dappled sunbeams danced between 

Upon the dappled deer, 
When, clad in black, two mourners met 
To read the Waterloo Gazette, — 

They mourn'd their Darling here. 

They join'd their Boy. The Tree at last 
Lies prone, discoursing of the past, 

Some fancy-dreams awaking ; 
At rest, though headlong changes come 
Though nations arm to roll of drum, 

And dynasties are quaking. 



LONDON LYRICS. 35 

Romantic Spot ! By honest prids 
Of old tradition sanctified ; 

My pensive vigil keeping, 
Thy beauty moves me like a spell, 
And thoughts, and tender thoughts, upweH 

That fill my heart to weeping. 
* * * * ♦ 

The Squire affirms, with gravest look, 
His Oak goes back to Domesday Book : 

And some say even higher ! 
We rode last week to see the Ruin, 
We love the fair domain it grew in, 

And well we love the Squire. 

A nature loyally controll'd, 

And fashion'd in that righteous mould 

Of English gentleman ; 
My child some day will read these rhymes. 
She loved her " Godpapa " betimes, — 

The little Christian ! 

I love the Past, its ripe pleasance, 
And lusty thought, and dim romance, — 
Its heart-compelling: ditties : 



36 LONDON LYRICS. 

But more, these ties, in mercy sent, 

With faith and true affection blent, 

And, wanting them, I were content 

To murmur, " Nunc dimittis" 

HALUXCBUaY : April, sBss, 



LONDON LYRICS. 37 



AT HURLINGHAIL 

J recollect a nurse calVd Ann, 

Who carried me about the grass , 
And one fine day a fine young man 

Came up, and kiss'd the pretty Lass i 
She did not make the least objection I 
Thinks I, "Aha! 
When I can talk I'll tell Mamma." 
— And that's my earliest recollection. 

A Terrible Infant 

This was dear Willy's brief despatch, 

A curt and yet a cordial summons ; — 
" Do come ! I'm in to-morrow's match, 

And see us whip the Faithful Commons." 
We trundled out behind the bays, 

Through miles and miles of brick and gardsaj 
Mamma was drest in mauve and maize, — 

She let me wear my Dolly Varden. 



38 LONDON LYRICS. 

A charming scene, and lively too ; 

The paddock's full, the band is playing 
Boulotlfs song in Barbe bleue ; 

And what are all these people saying ? 
They flirt ! they bet ! There's Linda Reeves 

Too lovely 1 I'd give worlds to borrow 
Her yellow rose with russet leaves ! — 

I'll wear a yellow rose to-morrow J 

And there are May and Algy Meade ; 

How proud she looks on her promotion 1 
The ring must be amused indeed, 

And edified by such devotion 1 
I wonder if she ever guessed ! 

I wonder if he'll call on Friday 1 
I often wonder which is best !— 

I only hope my hair is tidy J 

Some girls repine, and some rejoice, 
And some get bored, but I'm contented 

To make my destiny my choice, 
I'll never dream that I've repented. 



LONDON LYRICS. 39 

There's something sad in loved and cross* d, 
For all the fond, fond hope that rings it : 

^here's something sweet in " Loved and Lost " j 
And Oh, how sweetly Alfred sings it ! 

I'll own I'm bored with handicaps ! 

Blucrocksl (they always are " bluerocV' '-ing !) 
With May, a little bit, perhaps, — 

And yon Faust's teufelshiind is shocking ! 
Bang . . bang . . ! That's Willy ! There's his birc?, 

Blithely it cleaves the skies above me ! 
He's miss'd all ten 1 He's too absurd ! — 

I hope he'll always, always love me ! 

We've lost ! To tea, then back to town ; 

The crowd is laughing, eating, drinking : 
The Moon's eternal eyes look down, — 

Of what can yon pale Moon be thinking ? 
Oh, but for some good fairy's wand I 

This Pigeoncide is worse than silly, 
But still I'm very, very fond 

Of Hurlingham, and tea, — and Willy. 



40 



LONDON LYRICS. 
THE PILGRIMS OF PALL MALL 

(PAUL ARDEN SPEAKS.) 

My little Friend, so small, so neat, 
Whom years ago I used to meet 

In Pall Mall daily, 
How cheerily you tript away 
To work, it might have been to play, 

You tript so gaily. 

And Time trips too ! This moral means 
You then were midway in the teens 

That I was crowning ; 
We never spoke, but when I smiled 
At morn or eve, I know, dear Child, 

You were not frowning. 

Each morning that we met, I think 
One sentiment us two did link, 

Not joy, not sorrow ; 
And then at eve, experience-taught, 
Our hearts were lighter for the thought,- 

We meet to-morrow I 



LONDON' L YRICS. 41 

And you were poor, so poor ! and why? 
How kind to come, it was for my 

Especial grace meant ! 
Had you a chamber near the stars, — 
A bird, — some treasured plants in jars, 

About your casement ? 

I often wander up and down, 

When morning bathes the silent town 

In dewy glory ; 
Perhaps, unwitting, I have heard 
Your thrilling-toned canary-bird 

From that third story. 

I've seen some change since last we met— 
A patient little Seamstress yet, 

On small wage striving, 
Are you, if love such luck allows, 
Some little fellow's lucky spouse ? — 

Is Baby thriving ? 

My heart grows chill I Can Soul like thia-^ 
Weary of this dear World of mine, 
Have loosed its fetter, 



42 LONDON LYRICS. 

To find a world, whose promised blisa 
Is better than the best of this ? — 
And is it better ? 

Sometimes to Pall Mall I repair, 
And see the damsels passing there ; 

But if I try to . . . 
To get one glance, they look discreet, 
As though they'd some one else to meet ;- 

As have not / too ? 

Vet still I often think upon 

Our many meetings, come and gone, 

July — December ! 
Now let us make a tryst, and when, 
Dear little Soul, we meet again, 
In some more kindly sphere, why thsa 

Thy friend remember. 
*2*S 



LONDON LYRICS. 43 



MANY YEARS AFTER. 

(PHILIP BROOK SPEAKS.) 
(See Note.) 

{ saw some books exposed for sale — 
Some dear, and some — stage-play and tale 

As dear as any : 
A few, perhaps more orthodox 
Or torn, were tumbled in a box — 

' ' A 11 tJwse a penny* ' ' 

I open'd one at hazard, but 

Its leaves, though soil'd, were still uncut ; 

And yet before 
I'd read a page, I felt indeed 
A wish to cut that leaf, and read 

Some pages more. 

A Poet sang of what befell 
When, years gone by, he paced Pall Mall : 
While walking thus — 



44 LONDON L YRICS. 

He oft had i7iet a Maiden, Then 
The women all were brave, and men 
Were virtuous ! 

Her step was light, her face was fair, 
He zvondered if her name was Clare, 

Or Kate, or Alice ; 
They never spoke, but if he smiled 
Her eyes had seemd to say (poor Child!) 

1 ' I bear no malice. " 

And then this Poet mused and giieved, 
In kindly strain, his Verse relieved 

By kindlier jest : 
And with a grave, reflective glance, 
Bethought him she, ere then, perchartce 

Had found her rest. 

Then I was minded how my Joy 
Sometimes had told me of a Boy 

With curly head — 
(She then was well !) ' ' You know," she'd cry, 
" I met him in Pall Mall ere I 

And you were wed. ' 



LONDON LYRICS. 45 

And all in fun, she'd vow, "Good lack, 
I'll go there now and fetch thee back 

At least a curl '/" 
She once was here, now she is gone ! 
And so, you see, my Wife was yon 

Bright little Girl ! 

I am not one for shedding tears ; 

That Boy's now dead, or bow'd with years ; 

But see — sometimes 

He d thought of Her ! — that makes me weep ; 

That's why I bought — and why I keep 

His Book of Rhymes. 
1878, 



46 LONDON L YRIC& 



ON AN OLD MUFF. 

He cannot be complete in aught 
Who is not humorously prone,-* 

A man without a merry thougi'J 
Can hardly have a funny bone, 

Time has a magic wand ! 
What is this meets my hand, 
Moth-eaten, mouldy, and 

Cover'd with fluff? 
Faded, and stiff, and scant ; 
Can it be ? no, it can't — 
Yes, I declare, it's Aunt 

Prudence's Muff! 

Years ago, twenty-three, 
Old Uncle Doubledee 
Gave it to Aunty P. 

Laughing and teasing— 
"Pru., of the breezy curls, 
Question those solemn churls,— 
What holds a pretty girl's 

Hand without squeezing?'* 



LONDON LYRICS. 4 7 

Uncle was then a lad 
Gay, but, I grieve to add, 
Sinful, if smoking bad 

Baccy 's a vice : 
Glossy was then this mink 
Muff, lined with pretty pink 
Satin, which maidens think 

" Awfully nice \ n 

I seem to see again 

Aunt in her hood and train, 

Glide, with a sweet disdain, 

Gravely to Meeting : 
Psalm-book and kerchief new, 
Peep'd from the Muff of Pru. % 
Young men, and pious too, 

Giving her greeting. 

Sweetly her Sabbath sped 
Then ; from this Muff, it's said^ 
Tracts she distributed : — 

Converts (till Monday !) 
Lured by the grace they lack'c? t 
Follow'd her. One, in fact, 



48 LONDON LYRICS. 

Ask'd for — and got his tract 
Twice of a Sunday ! 

Love has a potent spell ; 
Soon this bold Ne'er-do-well, 
Aunt's too susceptible 

Heart undermining, 
Slipt, so the scandal runs, 
Notes in the pretty nun's 
Muff, triple-corner'd ones, 

Pink as its lining. 

Worse follow'd — soon the jade 

Fled (to oblige her blade !) 

Whilst her friends thought that thcyM 

Lock'd her up tightly : 
After such shocking games 
Aunt is of wedded dames 
Gayest, and now her name's 

Mrs. Golightly. 

In female conduct flaw 
Sadder I never saw, 
Faith still I've in the law 
Of compensation. 



LONDON LYRICS. 49 

Once Uncle went astray, 
Smoked, joked, and swore away. 
Sworn by he's now, by a 
Large congregation. 

Changed is the Child of Sin, 
Now he's (he once was thin) 
Grave, with a double chin, — 

Blest be his fat form ! 
Changed is the garb he wor^ 
Preacher was never more 
Prized than is Uncle for 

Pulpit or platform. 

If all's as best befits 
Mortals of slender wits, 
Then beg this Muff and its 

Fair owner pardon : 
Alts for the best, indeed 
Such is my simple creed % 
Still I must go and weed 

Hard in my gardes 
x36 3 . 



5 o LONDON LYRICS, 



GERALDINE. 

She will not need the shepherds croe^ 
Her griefs are only passing shadow^ 

She'll bask beside the purest brook, 
And nibble in the greenest nieado~3t- 

A simple Child has claims 
On your sentiment, her name's 

Geraldine. 
Be tender, but beware, 
She's frolicsome as fair* 

And fifteen. 

She has gifts to grace allied, 
And each she has applied, 

And improved : 
She has bliss that lives and leana 
On loving, and that means 

She is loved. 

Her beauty is refined 

By harmony of mini^ 

And the art, 



LONDON LYRICS. 51 

And the blessed nature, too, 
Of a tender, and a true 
Little heart. 

And yet I mustn't vault 
Over any foolish fault 

That she owns ; 
Or others might rebel t 
And enviously swell 

In their zones. 

For she's tricksy as the fays, 
Or her pussy when it plays 

With a string : 
She's a goose about her cat, 
Her ribbons, and all that 

Sort of thing. 

These foibles are a blot, 
Still she never can do what 

Isn't nice; 
Such as quarrel, and give slaps=«» 
As I've known her get perhaps 

Once or twice. 
K 



52 LONDON LYRICS. 

The spells that draw her soul 
Are subtle, sad, or droll : 

She can show 
That virtuoso whim 
Which consecrates our dim 

Long-ago. 

A love that is not sham 

For Stothard, Blake, and Lamb \ 

And I've known 
Cordelia's sad eyes 
Cause angel-tears to rise 

In her own. 

Her gentle spirit yearns 

When she reads of Robin Burns ;— 

Luckless bard ! 
Had she blossom'd in thy time. 
Oh, how rare had been the rhyme 

—And reward I 

Thrice happy then is he 
Who, planting such a Tree, 
Sees it bloom 



LONDON LYRICS. 53 

To shelter him ; indeed 
We have joyance as we speed 
To our doom I 

I'm happy, having grown 
Such a Sapling of my own ; 

And I crave 
No garland for my brows, 
But rest beneath its boug-s 

To the Grave. 



54 LONDON LYRICS, 



AT HER WINDOW. 

Ah, Minstrel, how strange is 
The carol you sing I 

Let Psyche, who ranges 

The garden of spring, 

Remember the changes 

December will bring. 

Beating Heart ! we come again 
Where my Love reposes : 

This is Mabel's window-pane ; 
These are Mabel's roses. 

Is she nested ? Does she lineal 

In the twilight stilly, 
Lily clad from throat to heel, 

She, my virgin Lily? 

Soon the wan, the wistful stara 
Fading, will forsake her ; 

Elves of light, on beamy bars, 
Whisper then, and wake hes, 



LONDON L YRICS. 5 5 

Let this friendly pebble plead 

At her flowery grating ; 
If she hear me will she heed ? 

Mabel, I am waiting, 

Mabel will be deck'd anon, 

Zoned in bride's apparel ; 
Happy zone ! Oh hark to yon 

Passion-shaken carol I 

Sing thy song, thou tranced thrush, 

Pipe thy best, thy clearest ; — 
Hush, her lattice moves, O husk— 

Dsarai Mabel I — £4srmi « « a 



5 6 LONDON LYRICS. 



ROTTEN ROW. 

I hope I'm fond of much that's good 
As well as much that's gay ; 

I'd like the country if I could ; 
I love the Park in May : 

And when I ride in Rotten RoT7 ? 

I wonder why they call'd it sc 

A lively scene on turf and road % 
The crowd is bravely drest : 

The Ladies' Mile has overflow'd, 
The chairs are in request : 

The nimble air, so soft, so clear, 

Can hardly stir a ringlet here. 

I'll halt beneath those pleasant trecv 

And drop my bridle-rein, 
And, quite alone, indulge at ease 

The philosophic vein : 



LONDON LYRICS, 57 

I'll moralize on all I see — 
Yes, it was all arranged for me S 

Forsooth, and on a livelier spot 

The sunbeam never shines. 
Fair ladies here can talk and trot 

With statesmen and divines : 
Could I have chosen, I'd have beea 
A Duke, a Beauty, or a Dean. 

What grooms ! What gallant gentlemeffi I 

What well-appointed hacks ! 
What glory in their pace, and then 

What Beauty on their backs ! 
My Pegasus would never flag 
If weighted as my Lady's nag. 

But where is now the courtly troop 

That once rode laughing by? 
I miss the curls of Cantilupe, 

The laugh of Lady Di : 
They all could laugh from night to mon?, 
And Time has laugh'd them all to scorn. 



58 LONDON LYRICS 

I then could frolic in the van 
With dukes and dandy earls ; 

Then I was thought a nice young mas 
By rather nice young girls ! 

I've half a mind to join Miss Browne, 

And try one canter up and down. 

Ah, no— I'll linger here awhile, 

And dream of days of yore ; 
For me bright eyes have lost the smil i 

The sunny smile they wore : — 

Perhaps they say, what I'll allow, 

That I'm not quite so handsome 

«SSy. 



LONDON LYRICS, 59 



LOULOU AND HER CAT. 

Vou shake your saucy curls, and vow 
i build no airy castles now ; 
I oh smile, ami you are thinking too,— 
i'e's nothing else on earth to do. 

Cood pastry is vended 

In Cite Fadette ; 
liaison Pons can make splendid 

Briociie and galette. 

IVsUu Pons is so fat that 

He's laid on the shelf; 
Madame had a Cat that 

Was fat as herself. 



Long hair, soft as satin, 

A musical purr, 
^Gainst the window she'd flattea 

Her delicate fur. 



60 LONDON LYRICS. 

I drove Lou to see what 
Our neighbours were at, — 

In rapture, cried she, " What 
An exquisite Cat 1 

" What whiskers ! She's purrbg 

All over. Regale 
Our eyes, Puss, by stirring 

Thy feathery tail ! 

"M'sieu Pons, will you sell hey?* 
t( Ma/emme est sortie. 

Your offer I'll tell her ; 
But — will she ? " says he. 

Yet Pons was persuaded 
To part with the prize : 

(Our bargain was aided, 
My Lou, by your eyes !) 

From his legitime save him,~- 

My spouse I prefer, 
For I warrant his gave him 

Un mauvais quart d'hcttrt. 



LONDON L YRICS, 61 

I am giving a pleasant 

Grimalkin to Lou, 
«-Ah, Puss, what a preseaJ 

I'm. giving to jos ! 



62 LONDON L YRICS. 



THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 

The most forlorn — what worms we are 1 
Wottld wish to finish this cigar 
Before departing. 

The characters of great and small 

Come ready made, we can't bespeak one ; 
Their sides are many, too, and all 

(Except ourselves) have got a weak one. 
Some sanguine people love for life, 

Some love their hobby till it flings them. 
How many love a pretty wife 

For love of the eclat she brings them ! 



A little to relieve my mind 

I've thrown off this disjointed chatter 8 
But more because I'm disinclined 

To enter on a painful matter : 
Once I was bashful ; I'll allow 

I've blush'd for words untimely spoken \ 



LONDON L YRICS, 63 

I still am rather shy, and now . . . 
And now the ice is fairly broken. 

We all have secrets : you have one 

Which mayn't be quite your charming spouse's ; 
We all lock up a Skeleton 

In some grim chamber of our houses ; 
Familiars who exhaust their days 

And nights in probing where our smart is, 
And who, for all their spiteful ways, 

Are "silent, unassuming Parties." 

We hug this Phantom we detest, 

Rarely we let it cross our portal** 1 
It is a most exacting guest, — 

And we are most afflicted mortals. 
Your neighbour Gay, that jovial wight, 

As Dives rich, and brave as Hector, 
Poor Gay steals twenty times a night, 

On shaking knees, to see his Spectra. 

Old Dives fears a pauper fate, 

So hoarding is his ruling passion ;-- 



64 LONDON L YKICS. 

Some gloomy souls anticipate 

A waistcoat, straiter than the fashion I 

She childless pines, that lonely wife, 
And secret tears are bitter shedding ; 

Hector may tremble all his life, 

And die, — but not of that he's dreading. 
* * * • 

Ah me, the World ! How fast it spins ! 

The beldams dance, the caldron bubbles ; 
They shriek, they stir it for our sins, 

And we must drain it for our troubles. 
We toil, we groan ; the cry for love 

Mounts up from this poor seething city, 
And yet I know we have above 

A Father, infinite in pity. 

When Beauty smiles, when Sorrow weeps, 

Where sunbeams play, where shadows darken, 
One inmate of our dwelling keeps 

Its ghastly carnival ; but hearken ! 
How dry the rattle of the bones ! 

That sound was not to make you start mean* : 
Stand by ! Your humble servant owns 

The Tenant of this Dark Apartment 



LONDON LYRICS. 65 



AN INVITATION TO ROME, AND 
THE REPLY. 

THE INVITATION. 

Oh, come to Rome, it is a pleasant place, 

Your London sun is here, and smiling brightly ; 

The Briton, too, puts on his cheery face, 
And Mrs. Bull acquits herself politely. 

The Romans are an easy-going race, 

With simple wives, more dignified than sprightly ; 

I see them at their doors, as day is closing, 

Prouder than duchesses, and more imposing. 

A sweet far niente life promotes the graces ; 

They pass from dreamy bliss to wakeful glee, 
And in their bearing and their speech, one traces 

A breadth, a depth — a grace of courtesy 
Not found in busy or inclement places ; 

Their clime and tongue are much in harmony : 
The Cockney met in Middlesex, or Surrey, 
Is often cold, and always in a hurry. 



66 LONDON LYRICS. 

Oh, come to Rome, nor be c( ntent to read 
Of famous palace and of stately street 

Whose fountains ever run with joyful speed, 
And never-ceasing murmur. Here we greet 

Memnon's vast monolith j or, gay with weed, 
Rich capitals, as corner-stone or seat, 

The site of vanish 'd temples, where now moulder 

Old ruins, masking ruin even older. 

Ay, come, and see the statues, pictures, churches, 
Although the last are commonplace, or florid.— 

Who say 'tis here that superstition perches ? 
Myself I'm glad the marbles have been quarried. 

The sombre streets are worthy your resea: ches : 
Tho'ways are foul, and lava pavement's horrid. 

The pleasant sights, that squeamishness disparages, 

Are miss'd by all who roll along in carriages. 

I dare not speak of Michael Angelo, 

Such theme were all too splendid for my pen : 

And if I breathe the name of Sanzio 
(The first of painters and of gentlemen,) 



LONDON LYRICS. 67 

Is it that love casts out my fear, and so 

I claim with him a kindredship ? Ah, when 
We love, the name is on our hearts engraven, 
As is thy name, my own dear Bard of Avon. 

Nor is the Coliseum theme of mine, 
'Twas built for poet of a larger daring ; 

The world goes there with torches ; I decline 
Thus to affront the moonbeams with their flaring. 

Some time in May our forces we'll combine 
(Just you and I), and try a midnight airing. 

And then I'll quote this rhyme to you — and then 

You'll muse upon the vanity of men 1 

Come ! We will charter such a pair of nags ! 

The country's better seen when one is riding : 
We'll roam where yellow Tiber speeds or lags 

At will. The aqueducts are yet bestriding 
With giant march (now whole, now broken crags 

With flowers plumed) the swelling and subsiding 
Campagna, girt by purple hills aiar, 
That melt in light beneath the evening $U?. 



68 LONDON LYRICS. 

A drive to Palestrina will be pleasant ; 

The wild fig grows where erst her rampart stood ; 
There oft, in goat-skin clad, a sunburnt peasant 

Like Pan comes frisking from his ilex wood, 
And seems to wake the past time in the present. 

Fair contadina, mark his mirthful mood ; 
No antique satyr he. The nimble fellow 
Can join with jollity your saltarello. 

Old sylvan peace and liberty ! The breath 

Of life to unsophisticated man. 
Here Mirth may pipe, Love here may weave his 
wreath, 

"Per dar" 1 al mio bene." When you can, 
Come share their leafy solitudes. Pale Death 

And Time are grudging of our little span : 
Wan Time speeds lightly o'er the changing corn, 
Death grins from yonder cynical old thorn. 

Oh, come ! I send a leaf of April fern, 
It grew where beauty lingers round decay : 

Ashes long buried in a sculptured urn 
Are not more dead than Rome — so dead to-day f 



LONDON LYRICS. 69 

That better time, for which the patriots yearn, 

Delights the gaze, again to facie away. 
They wait, they pine for what is long denied, 
And thus wait I till thou art by my side. 

Thou'rt far away ! Yet, while I write, I still 
Seem gently, Sweet, to clasp thy hand in mine ; 

I cannot bring myself to drop the quill, 
I cannot yet thy little hand resign ! 

The plain is fading into darkness chill, 

The Sabine peaks are flush'd with light divine, 

I watch alone, my fond thought wings to thee ; 

Oh, come to Rome. Oh come, — oh come to me ! 
1863. 

THE REPLY. 

Dear Exile, I was proud to get 

Your rhyme, I've " laid it up in cotton " ; 
You know that you are all to "Pet" — 

I fear'd that I was quite forgotten ! 
Mamma, who scolds me when I mope, 

Insists, and she is wise as gentle, 



70 LONDON L YHICE. 

That I am still in love ! I hope 
That you feel rather sentimental ! 

Perhaps you think your Love forlore 

Should pine unless her slave be with he?| 
Of course you're fond of Rome, and more — ■ 

Of course you'd like to coax me thither ! 
Che I quit this dear delightful maze 

Of calls and balls, to be intensely 
Discomfited in fifty ways — 

I like your confidence, immensely ! 

Some girls who love to ride and race, 

And live for dancing, like the Bruens, 
Confess that Rome's a charming place — 

In spite of all the stupid ruins ! 
I think it might be sweet to pitch 

One's tent beside those reeds of Tiber, 
And all that sort of thing, of which 

Dear Hawthorne's "quite " the best describer. 

To see stone pines and marble goes 
In garden alleys red with rose? ; 



LONDON LYRICS. 71 

Pre Perch where Pio Nono nods ; 

The Church where Raphael reposes. 
Make pleasant giros — when we may ; 

Jump stagionate (where they're easy I) 
And play croquet ; the Bruens say 

There's turf behind the Ludovisi ! 

I'll bring my books, though Mrs. Mee 

Says packing books is such a worry ; 
I'll bring my Golden Treasury, 

Manzoni, and, of course, a "Murray!" 
Your verses (if you so advise !) 

A Dante — Auntie owns a quarto ; 
I'll try and buy a smaller size, 

And read him on the Micro Torto. 

But can I go ? La Madre thinks 

It would be such an undertaking I 
(I wish we could consult a sphinx !) 

The very thought has left her quaking ! 
Papa (we do not mind papa) 

Has got some " notice " of some " motion*" 
And could not stay ; but, why not, — ah, 

I've not the very slightest notio 1 



72 LONDON LYRICS. 

The Browns have come to stay a week, 

They've brought the boys — I haven't thank'd 'em; 
For Baby Grand, and Baby Pic, 

Are playing cricket in my sanctum ! 
Your Rover, too, affects my den, 

And when I pat the dear old whelp, it . . 
It makes me think of Yon, and then . . 

And then I cry — 1 cannot help it. 

Ah yes, before you left me, ere 

The cloud that cleft us was impending, 
These eyes had seldom shed a tear, 

I thought my joy could have no ending ! 
But cloudlets gather'd soon, and this — 

This was the first that rose to grieve me } 
To know that I possess'd the bliss, — 

For then I knew such bliss might leave me ! 

My strain is sad, yet, oh, believe 

Your words have made my spirit better 5 

And if, perhaps, at times I grieve, 
I'd meant to write a cheery letter ; 



LONDON LYRICS. 73 

But skies were dull ; Rome sounded hot, 

I fancied I could live without it : 
I thought I'd go, I thought I'd not, 

And then I thought I'd think about it. 

The sun now glances o'er the park, 

If tears are on my cheek, they glitter ; 
I think I've kiss'd your rhyme, for hark, 

My bailey gives a saucy twitter ! 
Your blessed words extinguish doubt, 

A sudden breeze is gaily blowing ; 
And hark ! The Minster bells ring out— 

She ought to go. Of course skes geiftgl 



74 LONDON LYRICS, 



TO MY MISTRESS. 

If is musings were trite, and their burthen, forsooth 
The -wisdom of age and the folly of youth. 

Marquise, I see the flying year, 
And feel how Time is wasting here : 
Ay more, he soon his worst will do, 
And garner all your roses too. 

It pleases Time to fold his wings 
Around our best and fairest things ; 
He'll mar your blooming cheek, as ncvr 
He stamps his mark upon my brow. 

The same mute planets rise and shine 
To rule your days and nights as mine : 
Once I was young and gay, and see I . . 
What I am now you soon will be. 

And yet I vaunt a certain charm 
That shields me from your worst alarm, 
And bids me gaze, with front sublime, 
On all these ravages of Time. 



LONDON LYRICS. 75 

Vou boast a gift that blooms and dies, 
I boast a gift that change defies : 
For mine will still be mine, and lsst 
When all your pride of beauty's past. 

My gift will long embalm the lures 
Of eyes— ah sweet to me as yours : 
For ages hence the great and good 
Will judge you as I choose they should 

In days to come the peer or clown, 
With whom I still shall win renovvB, 
Will only know that you were fair 
Because I chanced to say you were. 

Proud Lady ! Scornful beauty modes 
At aged heads and silver locks ; 
But think awhile before you flj 
Or spurn a Poet such as L 
S^.'wood: July 21, 1864. 



76 LONDON L YRICS. 

CIRCUMSTANCE* 

THE ORANGE. 

It ripen'd by the river banks, 

Where, mask and moonlight aiding, 

Dons Bias and Jtian play their pranks, 
Dark Donnas serenading. 

By Mooiish damsel it was pluck'd, 
Beneath the golden day there ; 

By swain 'twas then in London suck'^j 
Who flung the peel away there. 

He could not know in Pimlico, 

As little she in Seville, 
That / should reel upon that peel* 

And — wish them at the devil. 



LONDON L YRICS. 77 



YORICK'S FUNERAL, 

• » • * • 

That day, will there be one to shed 

A tear behind the Hearse ? 
Or cry, " Poor Yorick, are you dead? 

I could have spared a worse : 
We never spoke ; we never met j 
I never heard your voice, and yet 

I loved you for your verse ? " 
Such love would make the flowers wave 
In gladness on their Poet's Grave. 

A few, few years, like one short week, 

Will pass, and leave behind 
A Stone moss-grown, that none will seek, 

And none would care to find. 
Then I shall sleep, and gain release 
In perfect rest — the perfect peace 

For which my soul has pined ; 
And still some Fool will laugh and weep— 
A weary Fool who sues for sleep. 



78 LONDON LYRICS, 



PICCADILLY. 

Her eyes and her hair 

A re superb ; 
She stands in despair 

On the kerb. 
Quick, Stranger, advance 

To her aid: — 
She's across, with a glance 

You're repaid. 
She s fair, and you're Tallf 

fal-lal-la /— 
What will come of it all? 

Chi lo sa ! 

Cupid on the Crossik-s. 

Piccadilly ! Shops, palaces, bustle, and breeze, 
The whirring of wheels, and the murmur of trees \ 
By night or by day, whether noisy or stilly, 
Whatever my mood is, I love Piccadilly. 

Wet nights, when the gas on the pavement is 

streaming, 
And young Love is watching, and old Love is 

dreaming, 
And Beauty is whirling to conquest, where shrilly 
Cremona makes nimble thy toes, Piccadilly 1 



LONDON LYRICS. 79 

Bright days, when a stroll is my afternoon wont, 
And I meet all the people I do know, or don't : 
Here is jolly old Brown, and his fair daughter 

Lillie— 
No wonder, young Pilgrim, you like Piccadilly ! 

See yonder pair riding, how fondly they saunter, 
She smiles on her Poet, whose heart's in a canter I 
Some envy her spouse, and some covet her filly, 
He envies them both, — he's an ass, Piccadilly ! 

Now were I such a bride, with a slave at my feet, 
I would choose me a house in my favourite street , 
Yes or no — I would carry my point, willy-nilly : 
If " no," — pick a quarrel ; if " yes, "—Piccadilly ! 

From Primrose balcony, long ages ago, 
" Old Q." sat at gaze, — who now passes below? 
A frolicsome statesman, the Man of the Day; 
A laughing philosopher, gallant and gay ; 
Never darling of fortune more manfully trod, 
Full of years, full of fame, and the world at his ncd, 



8o LONDON LYRICS. 

Can the thought reach his heart, and then leave i\ 

more chilly — 
Old P. or old Q., "I must quit Piccadilly" ? 

Life is chequer'd ; a patchwork of smiles and oi 

frowns ; 
We value its ups, let us muse on its downs ; 
There's a side that is bright, it will then turn us 

t'other, 
One turn, if a good one, deserves yet anothci. 
These downs are delightful, these ups are not 

hilly,- 
Let us try one more turn ere we quit Piccadilly. 



LONDON LYRICS, 81 



A NICE CORRESPONDENT. 

M There are plenty of roses " {the patriarch speaks) 
" A las not for me, o?i your lips and your cheeks ; 
Fair inaidcn rose-laden enough and to spare, 
Spare, spare me tliat rose that you wear in your hair." 

The glow and the glory are plighted 
To darkness, for evening is come ; 

The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted, 
The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb. 

I'm alone, for the others have flitted 
To dine with a neighbour at Kew : 

Alone, but I'm not to be pitied— 
I'm thinking of you ! 

I wish you were here ! Were I duller 
Than dull, you'd be dearer than dear j 

I am drest in your favourite colour — 
Dear Fred, how I wish you were here 1 

I am wearing my lazuli necklace, 
The necklace you fasten'd askew ! 

Was there ever so rude or so reckless 
A Darling as you ? 



82 LONDON LYRICS, 

I want you to come and pass sentence 
On two or three books with a plot ; 

Of course you know "Janet's Repentance? 58 
I am reading Sir Waverley Scott. 

That story of Edgar and Lucy, 

How thrilling, romantic, and true ! 

The Master (his bride was a goosey !) 
Reminds me of you. 



They tell me Cockaigne has been crowninj 
A Poet whose garland endures; — 

It was you that first told me of Browning 
That stupid old Browning of yours ! 

His vogue and his verve are alarming, 
I'm anxious to give him his due, 

But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming 
A Poet as you I 

I heard how you shot at The Beeches, 
I saw how you rode Chanticleer, 

I have read the report of your speeches 
And echo'd the echoing: cheer: 



LONDON LYRICS. 83 

There's a whisper of hearts you are breaking, 

Dear Fred, I believe it, I do ! 
Small marvel that Folly is making 
Her Idol of you J 

Alas for the World, and its dearly 
Bought triumph, its fugitive bliss ; 

Sometimes I half wish I were merely 
A plain or a penniless Miss ; 

But, perhaps, one is best with ' * a measure 
Of pelf," and I'm not sorry, too, 

That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure, 
My Darling, to you ! 

Your whim is for frolic and fashion, 
Your taste is for letters and art ;— 

This rhyme is the commonplace passion 
That glows in a fond Woman's heart ■ 

Lay it by in some sacred deposit 
For relics — we all have a few ! 

Love, some day they'll print it, because it 
Was written to You. 



8 4 LONDON LYRICS. 



MY SONG. 

You ask a Song, 
Such as of yore, an autumn's eventide, 
Some blest Boy-Poet caroll'd,— and then died. 
Nay, / have sung too long. 

Say, shall I fling 
A sigh to Beauty at her window-pane ? 
I sang there once, may not I once again ? 
Or tell me whom to sing. 

— The peer of Peers ? 
Lord of the wealth that gives his time employ 
Time to possess, but hardly to enjoy — 
He cannot need my tears. 

— The man of Mind 
Or Priest who darken what was never day 
T cannot sing them, yet I will not say 

Such guides are wholly blind. 



LONDON LYRICS. 8 5 

—The Orator? 
He quiet lies where yon fresh hillock heaves : 
'Twere well to sprinkle there those laurel-leaves 
He won, but never wore. 

Or shall I twine 
The Cypress ? Wreath of glory and of gloom. — 
To march a gallant Soldier to his doom 
Needs fuller voice than mine. 

No Lay have I, 
No murmur'd measure meet for your delight, 
No Song of Love and Death, to make you quite 
Forget that we must die. 

Something is wrong ; 
The World is over-wise ; or, more's the pity, 
These days are far too serious for a Ditty, 
Yet take it,— take My Song. 



86 LONDON LYRICS. 



REPLY TO A LETTER ENCLOSING A 
LOCK OF HAIR. 

She laugh* d— she climb' d the g iddy height ; 

I held that climber small; 
I even held her rather tight, 

For fear that she should fall. 
A dozen girls were chirping round. 

Like five-aud-twenty linnets ; — 
/ must have Jield Iter, I'll be bound, 

Some five-and-twenty minutes. 

Yes, you were false, and, though I'm free, 

I still would be that slave of yore ; 
Then, join'd, our years were thirty- three, 

And now, — yes now I'm thirty-four. 
And though you were not learned . . . wdl, 

I was not anxious you should grow sc \ 
I trembled once beneath her spell 

Whose spelling was extremely so-so. 

Bright season ! why will Memory 

Still haunt the path our rambles took \ 



LONDON LYRICS. 87 

The sparrow's nest that made you cry, 

The lilies captured in the brook ? 
I'd lifted you from side to side, 

You seem'd as light as that poor sparrow % 
I know who wish'd it twice as wide, 

I think you thought it rather narrow. 

lime was, indeed a little while, 

My pony could your heart compel ; 
And once, beside the meadow-stile, 

I thought you loved me just as well ; 
I 'd kiss'd your cheek ; in sweet surprise 

Your troubled gaze said plainly, " Should he ? " 
Put doubt soon fled those daisy eyes,— 

" He could not mean to vex me, could he ? " 

The brightest eyes are soonest sad, 
But your rose cheek, so lightly swaytt, 

Could ripple into dimples glad ; 
For oh, fair Friend, what mirth we made ! 

The brightest tears are soonest dried, 
But your young love and dole were stable % 



88 LONDON LYRICS- 

You wept when dear old Rover died, 

You wept — and dress'd your dolls in sable. 

As year succeeds to year, the more 

Imperfect life's fruition seems ; 
Our dreams, as baseless as of yore, 

Are not the same enchanting dreams. 
The girls I love now vote me slow, 

How dull the boys who once seem'd witty 1 
Perhaps I'm growing old, I know 

I'm still romantic, more's the pity. 

Vain the regret ! To few, perchance, 

Unknown, and profitless to all : 
The wisely -gay, as years advance, 

Are gaily-wise. Whate'er befall, 
We'll laugh at folly, whether seen 

Beneath a chimney or a steeple ; 
At yours, at mine— our own, I mean, 

As well as that of other people. 

I'm fond of fun, the mental dew 
Where wit, and truth, and ruth are Meet ; 



LONDON LYRICS. 8o 

And yet I've known a prig or two, 
Who, wanting all, were all content J 

To say I hate such dismal men 

Might be esteem'd a strong assertion 5 

If I've blue devils, now and then, 
I make them dance for my diversion. 

And here's your letter debonair — 

" My Friend, my dear old Friend of yore" 

And is this Curl your daughter's hair ? 
I've seen the Titian tint before. 

Are we the Pair that used to pass 

Long days beneath the chestnut shady ? 

You then were such a pretty lass ; 

I'm told you're now as fair a Lady. 

***** 
I've laugh'd to hide the tear I shed, 

As when the Jester's bosom swells, 
And mournfully he shakes his head, 

We hear the jingle of his bells. 
A jesting vein your Poet vex'd, 

And this poor rhyme, the Fates determine. 
Without a parson or a text, 

Has proved a rather prosy sermon. 
1859, 



90 LONDON LYRICS, 



A RHYME OF ONE. 

You sleep upon your mother's brea.^ 

Your race begun, 
A welcome, long a wish'd-for Gues% 

Whose age is One. 

A Baby-Boy, you wonder why 

You cannot run ; 
You try to talk — how hard you try S 

You're only One. 

Ere long you won't be such a dunce j 
You'll eat your bun, 

And fly your kite, like folk, who once 
Were only One. 

You'll rhyme and woo, and fight and joks^ 
Perhaps you'll pun I 

Such feats are never done by folk 
Before they're One. 



LONDON LYRICS. 9 i 

Some day, too, you may have your joy, 

And envy none ; 
Yes, you, yourself, may own a Boy, 

Who isn't One. 

He'll dance, and laugh, and crow j he'll do 

As you have done : 
(You crown a happy home, though you 

Are only One). 

But when he's grown shall you be here 

To share his fun, 
And talk of times when he (the Dear J) 

Was hardly One? 

Dear Ch\ld, 'tis your poor lot to be 

My little Son ; 
I'm gkd, though I am old, you see^*- 

While you are Oas* j 
rtfft, 



92 LONDON LYRICS. 

LITTLE DINKY. 

(A rhyme of less than one.) 

The hair she means to have is gold, 

Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old, 

Plump are her fists and pinky. 
She flutter'd down in lucky hour 
From some blue deep in yon sky bowsr— » 

I call her Little Dinky. 

A Tiny now, ere long she'll please 
To totter at my parent-knees, 

And crow, and try to chatter : 
And then she'll come to fair white frocks, 
And frisk about in shoes and socks, — 

Her totter changed to patter. 

And soon she'll play, ay, soon enough, 
At cowslip-ball and blindman's-buff ; 
And, some day, we shall find her 



LONDON LYRICS. 93 

Grow weary of her toys, indeed 
She'll fling them all aside to heed 
A footstep close behind her: 

So be it . May they both be rich 

In all that's best — the joys with which 

True-Love can aye supply them — 
Then, hand in hand, they'll sit them down 
Right cheerfully, and let the Town, 

This foolish Town, go by them. 

Dinky, I soon must pass the toys, 
I've loved so well, to younger boys, 

For I have had my warning — 
Farewell to all the dear delight. 
Content I am to say good-night, 

And hope for brighter morning. 
* * * 

As I was climbing Ludgate Hill 
I met a goose who dropt a quill, 

You see my thumb is inky ; 
I fell to scribble there and then, 
And this is how I came to pen, 

This rhyme on Little Dinky. 

1878 and i8g2. 



94 LONDON LYRICS. 



ANY POET TO HIS LOVE. 

Immortal Verse ! Is mine the strain 
To last and live ? As ages wane 
What hand for me will twine the bays ? 
Who'll praise me then as now you praiss 

Will there be one to praise ? Ah no 1 
My laurel leaf may never grow ; 
My bust is in the quarry yet, 
Oblivion weaves my coronet. 

Immortal for a month — a week ! 
The garlands wither as I speak ; 
The song will die, the harp's unstrung 
But, singing, have I vainly sung ? 

You deign'd to lend an ear the while 
I trill'd my lay. I won your smib. 
Now, let it die, or let it live, — 
My verse was all I had to give. 



LONDON LYRICS. 95 

The linnet flies on wistful wings, 
And finds a bower, and lights and sings ? 
Enough if my poor verse endures 
To light and live — to die in Yours. 
s%5» 



96 LONDON LYRICS, 



IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN, 

A friendly bird with bosom red 
Is fluting near my garden seat ; 

Your sky is fair above my head, 
And Tweed rejoices at my feet. 

The squirrels gambol in the oak, 
Here all is glad, but you prefer 

To linger on amid the smoke 
Of stony-hearted Westminster. 

Again I read your letter through, — 
"How wonderful is fate's decree.. 

How sweet is all your life to you, 
And oh, how sad is mine to me." 

I know your wail, who knows it not 
He gave, — He taketh that He gave. 

Yours is the lot, the common lot, 
To go down weeping to the grave- 



LONDON LYRICS, 97 

Sad journey to a dark abyss, 

Meet ending of your sorrow keen,— 

The burden of my dirge is this, 

And this my woe, — // might have beenl 

Dear bird ! Blithe bird that singst in frost, 

Forgive my friend if he is sad ; 
He mourns what he has only lost, — 
I weep what I have never h«.dL 
L*3S, September 27, 1875, 



9 8 LONDON LYRICS. 



THE CUCKOO. 

We heard it calling, clear and low, 
That tender April morn ; we stood 
And listened in the quiet wood, 

We heard it, ay, long years ago. 

It came, and with a strange, sweet cry, 
A friend, but from a far-off land ; 
We stood and listened, hand in handj 

And heart to heart, my Love and I. 

In dreamland then we found our joy, 
And so it seem'd as 'twere the Bird 
That Helen in old times had heard 

At noon beneath the oaks of Troy. 

O time far off, and yet so near ! 

It came to her in that hush'd grove. 

It warbled while the wooing throva, 
It sang the song she loved to hear. 



LONDON LYRICS. 99 

And now I hear its voice again, 

And still its message is of peace, 
It sings of love that will not 

Fss: ms it f&yer sings ia vai?s. 






ioo LONDON L YRICS, 

TO LINA OSWALD. 

(AGED FIVE YEARS.) 

I tumble out of bed betimes 
To make my love these toddling rhymea \ 
And meet the hour, and meet the place 
To bless her blithe good-morning face. 
I send her all this heart can store ; 
I seem to see her as before, 
An angel-child, divinely fair, 
With meek blue eyes, and golden hair, 
Curls tipt with changing light, that shed 
A little glory round her head. 

Has poet ever sung or seen a 
Sweeter, wiser child than Lina ? 
Blue are her sash and snood, and blu2*a 
The hue of her bewitching shoes ; 
But, saving these, she's virgin dighf, 
A happy creature clad in white. 



LONDON LYRICS. 101 

Again she stands beneath the boughs, 
Reproves the pup, and feeds the cows ; 
Unvexed by >*ule, unscared by ill, 
She wander? at her own sweet will { 
For what grave fiat could confine 
My little chartered libertine, 
Yet free from feeling or from seeing 
The burthen of her moral being ? 

But change must come, and forms and dyes 
Will change before her changing eyes j 
She'll learn to blush, and hope, and fear — 
And where shall I be then, my dear? 

Little gossip, set apart 
But one small corner of thy heart j 
There still is one not quite employ'd, 
So let me find and fill that void ; 
Run then, and jump, and laugh, and play 
But love me though I'm far away. 

FtOOWHALL, StptetrJhfir, *?$*. 



102 LONDON LYRICS 



THE JESTER'S MORAL. 

Is Human Life a pleasant game 

That gives the palm to all ? 
A fight for fortune, or for fame, 

A struggle, and a fall ? 
Who views the Past, and all he prized, 

With tranquil exultation ? 
And who can say— Ive realized 

My fondest aspiration ? 

Alack, not one. No, rest assured 

That all are prone to quarrel 
With Fate, when worms destroy their gourd 

Or mildew spoils their laurel : 
The prize may come to cheer our lot, 

But all too late ; and granted 
If even better, still it's not 

Exactly what we wanted. 

My schoolboy time 1 I wish to praise 
That bud of brief existence ; 



LONDON LYRICS. 103 

The vision of my younger days 

Now trembles in the distance. 
An envious vapour lingers here, 

And there I find a chasm ; 
But much remains, distinct and clear, 

To sink enthusiasm. 

Such thoughts just now disturb my soul 

With reason good, for lately 
I took the train to Marley-knoll, 

And cross'd the fields to Mately. 
I found old Wheeler at his gate, 

Who once rare sport could show me, 
My Mentor wise on springe and bait — 

But Wheeler did not know me. 

" Goodlord ! " at last exclaim'd the churl, 

"Are you the little chap, sir, 
What used to train his hair in curl, 

And wore a scarlet cap, sir ? n 
And then he took to fill in blanks, 

And conjure up old faces ; 
And talk of well-remember'd pranks 

In half-forgotten places. 



io 4 LONDON LYRICS. 

It pleased the man to tell his brief 

And rather mournful story, — 
Old Bliss's school had come to grief, 

And Bliss had " gone to glory." 
FelVd were his trees, his house was razed. 

And what less keenly pain'd me, 
A venerable Donkey grazed 

Exactly where he caned me. 

And where have school- and playmate sped, 

Whose ranks were once so serried ? 
Why some are wed, and some are dead, 

And some are only buried ; 
Frank Pelre, erst so full of fun, 

Is now St. Blaise's Prior, 
And Travers, the attorney's soi? t 

Is Member for the shire. 



Dull maskers we. Life's festival 
Enchants the blithe new-comer , 

But seasons change ; — then where are all 
Those friendships of our summer? 



LONDON LYRICS. 105 

Wan pilgrims flit athwart our track 

Cold looks attend the meeting ; 
We only greet them, glancing back, 

Or pass without a greeting. 



Old Bliss I owe some rubs, but prids 

Constrains me to postpone 'em, — 
Something he taught me, ere he died, 

About nil nisi bonum. 
I've met with wiser, better men, 

But I forgive him wholly ; 
Perhaps his jokes were sad, but then 

He used to storm so drolly. 

" 1 still can laugh " is still my boast, 

But mirth has sounded gayer ; 
And which provokes my laughter mos^ 

The preacher or the player ? 
Alack, I cannot laugh at what 

Once made us laugh so freely j 
For Nestroy and Grassot are net 5 

And where is Mr. Keeley ? 



io6 LONDON LYRICS. 

I'll join St. Blaise (a verseman fit, 

More fit than I, once did it) 
— / shave my crown ? No, Common- Wit> 

And Common-Sense forbid it. 
I'd sooner dress your Little Miss 

As Paulet shaves his poodles ! 
As soon propose for Betsy Bliss, 

Or get proposed for Boodle's. 

We prate of Life's illusive dyes, 

And yet fond Hope misleads us ; 
We all believe we near the prize, 

Till some fresh dupe succeeds us ! 
And yet, though Life's a riddle, thougfe 

No Clerk has yet explain'd it, 
I still can hope ; for well I know 

That Love has thus ordain'd &» 
Paris, Naoemsigr, 18^4. 



NOTES. 

"A Human Skull." 

"In out last month's Magazine you may re- 
member there were some verses about a portion of 
a skeleton. Did you remark how the poet and pre- 
sent proprietor of the human skull at once settled 
the sex of it, and determined off-hand that it must 
have belonged to a woman? Such skulls are 
locked up in many gentlemen's hearts and 
memories. Bluebeard, you know, had a whole 
museum of them — as that imprudent little last 
wife of his found out to her cost. And, on the 
other hand, a lady, we suppose, would select 
hers of the sort which had carried beards when 
in the flesh." — Adventures oj Philip on his Way 
through the World. Comhitt Magazine^ January % 
1 86 1- 



108 NOTES. 

"St. James's Street." 
I hope my readers, whoever they may be, will 
not credit me with all the sentiments expressed 
in this volume. I am told that these lines have 
disturbed some Americans, but surely without 
cause. The remark in the seventh stanza is 
natural in the mouth of a rather exclusive 
habitue of St. James's, who has the mortification 
to feel that he is no longer young, who is too 
shallow-minded to appreciate our advance in 
civilization during the last forty years, but who 
is nevertheless sufficiently keen to see what is 
possible in the future. My friends know I have 
a sincere admiration for the American people. 

"Many Years After." 
In 1879, when I printed Patchwork, I wrote 
a continuation to The Pilgtims of Pall Mall, 
called Many Years After, which did not satisfy 
me, for it was not quite intelligible. I have 
now tried to improve it. This is the argument : 
In The Pilgrims of Pall Mall, a man, let us 



NOTES. 109 

call him Paul Arden, describes that in his youth 
he had met an interesting-looking girl on her 
way to her work. He often met her, but they 
never spoke ; then he begins to conjecture as 
to what may have become of her. Is she dead, 
or married, or what ? 

In Many Years After, another Poet, let us call 
him Philip Brook, describes picking up a shabby 
and neglected little volume of verses, in which 
the anonymous author refers to years ago, when 
he used to meet a girl in Pall Mall, and then 
Brook all at once recollects that his wife, now 
dead, would amuse him with accounts of her 
having often met a youth in that street ; then he 
realizes that this book (Arden's Poems) musthavQ 
been written by the very youth who had so often 
met the little girl who afterwards became his 
{Brook's) wife. 

"Geraldine and I." 

When these verses appeared in Macmillan's 
Magazine many of my readers could not see the 



no NOTES. 

point, and others, seeing it, disliked it so heart- 
ily, that in sheer vexation I altered them as fol- 
lows. Now, I am sorry to say, I think neither 
one nor other poem very good, but that Ger- 
aldine and I is the best. 

A GARDEN LYRIC. 

We have loiter'd and laugh'd in the flowery croft, 

We have met under wintry skies ; 
Her voice is the dearest voice, and soft 

Is the light in her gentle eyes ; 
It is bliss in the silent woods, among 

Gay crowds, or in any place 
To hear her voice, to gaze on her young 
Confiding face. 

For ever may roses divinely blow, 

And wine-dark pansies charm 
By the prim box path where I felt the glow 

Of her dimpled, trusting arm, 
And the sweep of her silk as she turn'd and smiled ] 

A smile as pure as her pearls ; 
The breeze was in love with the darling Child, 
As it moved her cur!s. 



NOTES. 

She show'd me her ferns and woodbine-sprays, 

Foxglove and jasmine stars, 
A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze 

Of red in the celadon jars : 
And velvety bees in convolvulus bells, 

And roses of bountiful June — 
Oh, who would think their summer spells 
Could die so soon 1} 

For a glad song came from the milking shed, 

On a wind of the summer south, 
And the green was golden above her head, 

And a sunbeam kiss'd her mouth ; 
Sweet were the lips where that sunbeam dwelt 5 

And the wings of Time were fleet 
As I gazed ; and neither spoke, for we felt 
Life was so sweet I 

And the odorous limes were dim above 
As we leant on a drooping bough ; 

And the darkling air was a breath of love, 
And a witching thrush sang " Now !" 

For the sun dropt low, and the twilight grew 
As we listen'd, and sigh'd, and leant ; 

That day was the sweetest day— and we knew 
What the sweetness meant. 

1868. 



112 NOTES. 

" To My Mistress." 

These lines by Corneille were addressed to 
Mademoiselle du Pare, the actress. She was 
beloved by Corneille, Moliere, and Racine, and 
she preferred the last. Her personal distinction 
gained her the title of Marquise. The last four 
stanzas are brimful of spirit, and the mixture of 
pride and vanity they display is remarkable. 

" Marquise, si mon visage 
A quelques traits un peu vieux, 
Souvenez-vous, qu'a mon age 
Vous ne vaudrez guere mieux. 

" Le temps aux plus belles choses 
Se plait a faire un affront, 
Et saura faner vos roses 
Comme il a ri Je mon frost. 

**Le meme cours des planetss 
Regie nos jours et nos nuits 
On m'a vu ce que vous etes, 
Vous serez ce que je suis. 

" Cependant j'ai quelques charraes 
Qui sont assez eclatants 
Pour n'avoir pas trop d'alarme* 
3De ces ravage* dn temps. 



NOTES. 113 



"Vous en avez qu'on ado* a, 
Mais ceux que vous meprises 
Pourraient bien durer encors 
Quand ceux-la seront uses. 

" lis pourront sauver la gloire 
Des yeux qui me semblent dotU£, 
Et dans mille ans faire cro*i -. 
Ce qu'il me plaira de vous. 

"Chez cette race nouveile 
Oil j'aurai quelque credit, 
Vous ne passerez pour belle 
Qu'autant que je l'aurai an. 

" Pensez-y, belle Marquise, 
Quoiqu'un grison fasse effroi, 
II vaut qu'on le courtise 
Quand il est fait comme mci. " 



"A Nice Correspondent.* 5 

Ere long, perhaps in the next generation 
the word nice, and some other equally commoj 
words, may have passed into the limbo of elegant, 
genteel, &c. Fashions change, and certain words 
sink in the scale of gentility, and pass, like 
houses, into the hands of humblei proprietors. B& 
what can p-oor poets clo ! 



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